


Feel the Static

by universe



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M, Kissing, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-03
Updated: 2011-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:14:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universe/pseuds/universe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>There comes a time when he can't stop touching her.</i> Fingers against fingers on a file. (late season one)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel the Static

There comes a time in their (precariously unbalanced) relationship when he can’t stop touching her. He tries, he really does, or at least he’ll swear he did, later, when they’re all much, much older, and no longer mind the little white lies.

As most things in life do—especially those that last—, it starts out small. The first touches (fingers against fingers on a file, the bumping together of elbows at the bar, a hand resting on her back while nobody’s looking) are merely incidental, barely worth mentioning and already forgotten by the time they’re over—except for the slow, warm tingle they leave behind. But, naturally, they only start growing from there, into new territories, into _more_ (longer, tighter, more frequent). The change is so subtle they hardly notice, only on occasions where the contact lasts longer and the sparks fly higher than they’re used to. Much to their chagrin, however, things are becoming increasingly obvious to the rest of the team, until, one day, Eliot snaps in the middle of a con.

“Just keep your hands off Sophie for a minute and close the deal, Nate!”

They jerk away from each other so quickly they almost topple over, and somewhere in the background, Sophie hears Hardison snicker right into her ear.

“What’s Nate doing this time?” Parker asks innocently.

Nate curses, and Sophie’s cheeks feel warmer than they have in a long, long time (but she doesn’t blush, because she’s _Sophie_ , and Sophie _never_ blushes—unless she has to). When she looks at Nate, after a moment that drags and drags and is pulled into eternity like old chewing gum, there’s a flicker of panic in his eyes, as if he wants to say something he shouldn’t, as if all that keeps him from touching her again right this very minute is the knowledge the others are always listening in.

Hardison interrupts them, and Sophie swallows, hard.

The fact that they still manage to pull of the con flawlessly after that is more than anything owed to how well they work together, as a team.

Nobody brings up their little incident again (which in itself gives Sophie a lot to think about), and yet, Nate is grumpy for days whenever they’re all together. Or maybe just whenever _she_ ’s around, Sophie can’t tell. She knows better than to push him, though, and soon enough, they go back to whatever counts as normal between them. Only this time, Sophie notices the touches, or lack thereof. Nate’s visibly on edge whenever she gets too close, and every time they do make contact, he flinches and pulls away his hand as if he burnt himself.

A new week, a new con, and either they’re getting bolder, or making out in front of a mark has just never been required from them until now. It’s all for show, of course, but his hands low on her waist still come as a shock. She plays her role perfectly as always, though, not one to be thrown off track by something as simple as contact of skin. Nate seems to be focused on not showing any sort of reaction, not a single sign of it on his face. She’s always known he was good, but it finally strikes her just how much he can hide (from marks, from her, from everyone).

The evening finds them in the office, conveniently alone (or maybe Sophie set it up that way, nobody will ever know for sure, if they even ask). Nate rummages around in the kitchen while she watches him from the corner of her eye, a magazine splayed in front that she stopped reading half an hour ago.

He swears softly when he bangs his elbow against the counter, and a small smile appears on her face. He’s so engrossed in what appears to be making coffee that he doesn’t even hear her approach, and ends up almost dropping the metal box with the dark brown beans. She takes it from him, and within minutes finishes the task he’s been too distracted to complete.

His back is to her while they wait for the machine to do its magic, and for the length of a heartbeat or five, she contemplates running a hand up and down his back, in perfect sync with the sounds from the coffee maker, and somehow, time would just stop and they’d be in this moment forever. But then the machine stutters, gives another two sharp gasps, and finally dies down, a rich scent filling the kitchen. But he doesn’t pick up the mug, just stares at it for a while longer, although from the way his jaw is set, she can tell his thoughts are far, far away.

Before she can even consider asking him about it, though, Nate whirls around to face her, something in his eyes she hasn’t seen in quite some time, and suddenly, the tension that’s been surrounding them constantly is of a whole different sort. The step he takes brings him right into her personal space, and then even closer, his face inches from hers. The breath on her lips isn’t her own, and her throat has turned into parchment or something equally dry. She waits. She waits and waits, for courage that lacks now of all times, for him to do something, for the universe to implode before they can go where they seem to be headed with the speed of light.

The universe doesn’t implode. He doesn’t kiss her, either, but he comes close, closer than he has in years, and that alone leaves her a little light-headed (and cursing the effect he still has on her).

From there on, not a day goes by that he doesn’t find an excuse to touch her. It’s almost like it was in the beginning, but then, it’s not like that at all because there’s a clear intention behind it now, a purpose that she just hasn’t figured out yet. He doesn’t usually give any indication of what he’s done, but once in a while, a filthy smile sneaks onto his face, usually when he’s been exceptionally daring. Like that one time when he pushed against her on the way out the apartment with the pretence of being in a rush, and she felt his hands searing right through three layers of clothing. Or that time at the bar, hours after the rest of the team had left, when she almost landed right in his lap by accident. (The first one was easily explained away, but the second one, now that one had been trickier.)

All things considered, she’s pretty sure this is some giant ruse to trick her into— into— ‘into’ is as far as she comes in her thoughts one evening, and then he’s backing her up into a dark corner of his (their) apartment, and kissing her with everything he’s got.

That kiss seems to be the answer to all the questions she hasn’t asked these past few days and weeks and months and years, because when they pull apart, he looks a little less haunted and she feels a little bit happier, and somehow, that’s enough. Well, enough until their next kiss, anyway, the one she initiates by pulling him back to her, and then another, and another, and…


End file.
